


Of Musk and Men

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Weekly Roundup [3]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Shadowhunters (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Bestiality, Body Worship, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Play, Drunk Sex, Eproctophilia, Exhibitionism, FTM Stiles Stilinski, Farting, Fingerfucking, Fisting, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, Foreskin Play, Frat Boy Derek Hale, Gangbang, Grappling, Incest, Knotting, Leashes, Light Choking, M/M, Nursing, Nursing Kink, Object Insertion, Oral Fixation, Parent/Child Incest, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Public Sex, Puppy Play, Scat, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, Sibling Incest, Smegma, Sparring, Sweat, Tongues, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Underwear Kink, Underwear and sock sniffing, Uniform Kink, Voyeurism, Watersports, Wrestling, Xeno, Xenophilia, musk, sweaty sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Daddy kink, group sex, and dirty asses oh my! A collection of the usual nonsense from yours truly. Multiple ships and kinks and fandoms in little prompt fills, see if any of them catch your fancy.





	Of Musk and Men

**Author's Note:**

> None of us really thought I'd be majorly consistent with this, right? But I'm trying! As usual, check your tags. I spent twenty minutes putting them there so it's not my fault if you don't read them.

**Wincest scat, shiteating. Go nuts**

It was only something Sammy would let him do when he was drunk. It wasn't like the kid didn't like it or felt ashamed of it after, he just didn't know how to ask unless he'd lost all filter. Dean would get massively chubbed up any time he saw his brother going for an extra shot or two, knowing what he'd get as soon as Sam's stomach started to rumble.   
  
Sam would rub his belly, blink dopily at Dean, smile as he ripped some hot, silent ones on the couch. It was so fucking endearing. This massive, erudite mother fucker sporting a vpl down the leg of his jeans and groaning as he lifted his hips to make wet burbles. Dean let him sink into it on his own, didn't push or get handsy too early. He could wait for when Sammy would make a face, register that things were getting a bit too wet to be safe, and then head for the can, running his fingers through Dean's hair on his way out.   
  
That was it, the silent invitation, the little come hither that was entirely unspoken. Dean would polish off his own beer, come in on Sam's massive cock leaking as he crackled, thighs spread as wide as he could get them. "S' good to me, Dean. Make me feel s' good." Dean savored it when he got the chance, kissed the soft skin of Sam's inner thighs as he huffed the fumes straight from the bowl. He'd start with Sammy's swamped balls first, take a hit off his weepy dick, then move in for the main event. It was so warm, so thick and pungent. Sam instantly bucked against his mouth, dick flexing and waving.   
  
Nothing in this whole fucking earth or beyond could be better. Dean made love to that stretched out, mud covered hole. He sucked and licked and lipped at it like it would swoon and sigh for him. Smearing it on his cheeks, seeping it into his nostrils, letting it fill his head until he swore he was just as drunk as Sam was. He usually came in his pants, groaning as Sam farted hard enough to make his cheeks balloon. And if he was really lucky, Sam would pull him up by his hair after, run a thumb over Dean's dirty lips, give his big brother a loving, lurid kiss.

* * *

 

 

**Eddie x Venom, the most intense makeout one could ever think of lol**

Tongue fucking was a term Eddie had heard of before, sure. He'd even really sucked on a few in his day. You had to be with someone that was into it-- too much tongue was a hotly debated topic between most partners-- but he could get behind a little fellating of a different sort of muscle. It was so warm and wet and honest. Like, some folks wanted to make sex a performance, but Eddie liked it when the cards were just laid out on the table. I want your mouth all over my mouth. I wanna fucking eat your spit. Feed me your tongue.   
  
He'd had no idea it could be like this. It started out not that strange. The tip of Venom's tongue was slender, pointed. It was a bit more... lively than what he was used to, but he liked it. The way it would flick over his molars, how it wrapped around his own, the sensation of it flicking against the roof of his mouth. It was more actively fun that you could be with just another human. Then things got... intense.   
  
It hit the back of his throat. Dicks had done it, ya, but a dick was blunt. A dick rammed ya and then stopped unless you let it through. Venom's tongue slithered. It wormed in little, soothing circles around his throat and distracted him from how his jaw was being pried wider and wider by the fat end. He was drooling all over himself. He could barely breathe through his nose. His whole mouth was filled with Meat.   
  
Just when it felt like he was gonna break from it, when his eyes started rolling back in his head, there was a slick sound and he felt the walls of his esophagus contract as Venom slid out. He only had enough time to gulp in a single lungul of air and then it thrust back in. Again and again. Eddie's vision filled with those fuzzy lights. His head swam. His dick was spraying. Venom tongue fucked his face harder than Eddie had ever taken it in the ass and the sensation was euphoric.

* * *

 

 

**Derek testing out how many (non breakable!) christmas tree balls he gets up his ass**

Egg nog was deceptive. So sweet and creamy and just in a bowl on the sofa table, free for anyone to sample. A cup as he entered the party was only polite. And then he wanted another just to have something to sip as he socialized. After dinner he just wanted a little sugar to cut all the salt. He swears he didn't mean to actually get blasted on a fucking dairy based drink. No one does. And yet, he stumbled in front of the Christmas tree, words slurring as he shucked his pants to piss in the stand.   
  
His friends were not helpful. Hooting and hollering and slapping his hairy ass as he drunkenly raised his mostly empty cup in cheers. He doesn't know who shouts it, but someone plants the idea for him. "Really in the Christmas spirit this year, huh Derek? Why don't you fill that furry cunt with some Christmas cheer?" And well, that sounded great actually. Drunk Derek was ALWAYS a horny Derek. He'd had so many tequila shot inspired bukkakes he had sworn off the stuff.   
  
He didn't think he'd have to fear the nog. But it was definitely going on the list after he got on all fours while his friends chanted his name, lubed up some iridescent orbs, and played with his balls while they stuffed him full of holiday ornaments. He groaned as they took turns with him, like it was a fucking jenga tower-- carefully choosing their piece, wiggling past the tension, and then fist pumping when it slid inside.   
  
He doesn't know how many actually stuffed his guts before they couldn't continue, but it was enough to press on his prostate consistently enough for his dick to lazily drool cum into his bush without actually giving him an orgasm. The guys got hot off of just how much scuzz he could actually produce-- fucking his mouth as they told him to try and shit the ornaments back out. It was like some sort of egg preg play-- way beyond your usual thunder beads starter set. He had to work at them, one by one, fucking birthing each ball with a grunt, thrust, and lube fart.   
  
He doesn't actually remember if he properly got off. Just knows he woke up with his bush all crusty, his ass supremely sore, and a hangover that made him crawl to the kitchen. At the very least, the guys were good for some after care, helping him to the table and sitting an entire cast iron skillet filled with potatoes, bacon, and melted cheese in front of him. For Christmas he got a video of the whole event and a promise that they'd think of something just as fun for New Year's

* * *

 

 

**Are you going to write a continuation to the oneshot you had on tumblr with stiles and his dog at the BHPD BBQ party?**

After the barbecue Stiles had officially cemented himself as one of the guys. He got invited to every game night, every station baseball tourney, every birthday bash and bros brunch. He couldn't get enough. It was everything he'd ever wanted and so much more that he never dared to wish for. It wasn't like he'd had a bad relationship with his father's deputies before, but now he wasn't "the chief's pretty princess". The whole room didn't stiffen when he walked in, conversations dropped, behavior buttoned up.   
  
The guys told the crudest fucking jokes around him. They wrestled and farted and cursed. He got to hear about every chick or dude that was getting some good police dick, about all the assholes that they gave "special treatment" to, and all the special coding they used for those secret group affairs. Stiles loved being let in, on getting to taste the intimacy his father had fostered between all these handsome, hungry young guys.   
  
He got to have them finger him under his jeans in the movie theatre. He got to suck them off in the parking lot of the grocery store. He was gangbanged in the dugout and at pool parties and on camping trips where clothes were lost and showers were forgotten. They called him little dude and ruffled his hair and snuffled his pits and cheered when he belched the loudest at dinner.   
  
And they didn't think he was gross or weird for bringing Derek along to all of it. Parrish was the most interested, liked to watch Stiles suck his dog's tongue and beg for his knot. He even asked if Stiles wanted to do some more hands on work with the K9 unit, maybe give the station a little gift in the form of animal fucking for all. Stiles was always sure he was gonna join the force when he grew up, it was a total given. But for the first time in his life, he was sure that he was gonna be one of the crew too.

* * *

 

 

**Thor and Quill spar but then they get all riled up so it turns into sweaty rough sex? love your work!!**

They get into fights over the dumbest of things. At this point, it's like part of the game is finding just what they can actually start the sparring over. Stolen bites from the wrong plate. Borrowing shoes without asking. Being too loud on the can early in the morning. All justifiable reasons to throw down over. And not just little spats, but red faced, sweat dripping, bruise making slug fests that can last for up to an hour.   
  
Everyone on the ship leaves the second they start running into things and smashing circuits. It's pointless to try and stop them, so better to just get out of the way and come back when the dust clears. That's why none of them know why it's gone on so long, just what the grappling and grunting and spitting evolves into.   
  
Inevitably someone gets a boner. They're shoved in a dripping pit or pinned crotch to crotch or breathing wetly into each others' faces and then things get frantic in an entirely different way. Clothes being shredded, naked skin slapping and sticking, vicious bites and bruising grips that get arched into. Quill knows he should lose every time, Thor is a god after all, but lucky for him the Asgardian's a total switch and loves to bottom as much as anything.   
  
Their fucking is no less intense nor combative. They throw each other against walls, break chairs, slam faces together and bare teeth. But it's all accompanied by the lewd squelches of lube, the tacky slaps of balls against ass, the lurid stench of sweaty, sloppy sex. The loser is less of who's taking it in the mouth or up the ass or in the pit, but rather, who gives in and spits their load first. The domination is one of pleasuring, of making the other admit that they love this, that nothing gets them off harder.   
  
The victories are pretty evenly split, and so the competition lives on, until there's a definitive say on the matter.

* * *

 

 

**Oh hell yes! Would love more Peter Hale, maybe with his son Jackson? Foot job/worship?**

There was no doubt that something was owed to the boy, and that they had a lot of missed time to make up for. Peter didn't really know how to go about it, or what entirely he was feeling, just that he'd been flooded with a warmth and need. He wasn't the fatherly type, he wondered how he'd even gotten to a point in his life where he'd purposefully sired a kid, but still he was thankful. Even before the fire, he'd felt on the outs with his own family, like there wasn't quite anyone that was truly kin with him.   
  
Jackson-- Jackson fit. Pretty and bratty and so whip smart. Even without any sort of irrefutable confirmation, the truth clicked into his brain as soon as it was presented to him. His family. His boy. His blood. "Anything, anything you want. The world is yours, I swear it." Peter had no idea he'd be so desperate, that he'd cling this tightly. But more than anything, he found he wanted a partner in his ambitions, someone he could trust implicitly. He'd tried to groom Derek into it, but the boy was too tender. Jackson was already more than he could ever hope for.   
  
"I already have a father-- a rich and powerful one-- there's not a lot you could offer me. I suppose... I could use a daddy." And that was when Peter knew it wasn't just on his side, that they resonated completely, together. Only a boy with a heart as wicked as his own would look into the eyes of the man that made him and smirk, push him to his knees. Peter kissed his son's feet. He licked between the boy's toes. He massaged his heels and sucked on the arches and smeared the sour, teen musk of them all over his skin.   
  
"Baby boy. My sweet, little son. I am yours, all yours. Every inch of me yearns for every inch of you." He moaned when Jackson pressed a firm foot onto his balls, spread his thighs to let him press harder. He fucked his fat cock between those slender toes, put his lust and lurid affection on display for his kid to muse over. "Do you want to see the seed that birthed you, baby? Daddy's dick is so wet for you." Jackson grinned, more a jackal than a wolf, and flicked a toenail over his piss slit. Peter groaned as he came, face red, back bent, coating the boy's feet in his creamy load.   
  
His eyes crossed and his vision went blurry for a handful of seconds, but when the haze of his orgasm cleared, he had a sticky sole directly in front of his face. "Why don't you lick it clean? And maybe then I'll let you taste your boy's baby batter, huh?" Peter had never been more proud.

* * *

 

 

**Shadowhunters (sorry, I know you're not really into that fandom), Jace sucking Alec's particularly dirty cock clean**

It was relatively easy to make things up to Alec. Jace knew he shouldn't be so fickle, but it was simply in his nature. He needed Alec, but not in the way his friend really wanted it. So he gave what he could, what he was willing, and it was enough to string his companion along just that much longer. "I know, I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you, anything you want. Anything is fit to punish me. Why don't I lick you clean again? You liked that last time, ya? You let it get bad again, I can smell it."   
  
He didn't even wait for a response, he knew he wouldn't get one if he did. But Alec would never walk away from him, especially not when Jace was on his knees, fishing his friend out of his pants. Alec was hairy, he sweat a lot, and he was uncut. The boy took his aggression out in ludicrously masculine endeavors and it showed. His cut form, his flaring temper, his foul stench. Jace could taste it before he even peeled the hood back. Alec must not have cleaned in at least a week.   
  
Pushing the skin behind swelling glans confirmed his suspicious. Thick streaks of pungent cheese stuck in ridges, clung to folds, dotted his purpling head. Jace's breathing got heavy. He kept his performance up enough to make a face, but breathed it in deep regardless, mouthing around the shaft and teasing himself by drawing close, but keeping from sampling just yet. Alec stood rigid, silent, but started to drip pre, belly fluttering as he watched his friend stir closer and closer to his cultivated filth.   
  
Neither of them actually thought this a punishment, but the ruse was part of what made it good. Alec gripped Jace's hair. Jace let his eyes water and would cough up an occasional gag. He sucked the smeg off Alec's cock like it was the sweetest honey, laving it with his tongue and savoring the raw taste as long as he could keep it. Even after he'd swabbed it with spittle, Alec's cock steeped a strong skunk, and Jace made sure to pull his foreskin back up before making him blow, letting the fresh load stay trapped in the hood, ready to ferment another batch in just a few days time.

* * *

 

 

**Are you taking prompts today? How about Stiles leaving behind socks or underwear occasionally for Jackson to find, until he finally catches up to him. Sex ensues**

It's like coaxing an animal into their pen to take them to the vet. You know they're gonna get angry and fussy, but you also know it's what's best for them, that they'll be so much happier and healthier afterwards. So you leave the little trail of treats, turn your back so they think you're not watching, twitch as you wait for just the right moment to dive for their kennel door.   
  
Stiles knew what Jackson wanted-- what he needed in his life-- but he also knew the other boy was too proud to ever ask for it or pursue it. But Stiles didn't mind tossing away a little pride to help him out. "Jesus Stilinski, wash your balls every once in a while." Stiles just smirked, left his jock hanging on his locker door, pointedly didn't shower after practice. After that was a stray sock on the bench, forgetting his cleats in Jackson's car, asking to borrow a cup and returning it rank.   
  
Jackson sneered at him, bristled, and bitched. But he still gave Stiles the rides home, bought him new gear, let him get close. And then one day he actually invites Stiles in after a game. His house is so large and empty and pristine. It's a relief to get in his room where it's clear a teenage boy actually lives. Dirty clothes peppered everywhere. Conspicuous tissue box beside the bed. A game console and half empty food containers. Stiles knew there was a raucous, energetic boy somewhere in Jackson, just begging to be freed. So he laughs when he's pushed on the bed with a rambunctious growl, guides Jackson to snuffle at his wet pits, kisses the salt from his lips after. "Haven't washed by balls in a while, just for you."

* * *

 

 

**I love how you write Jackson and Peter together...could we get more of that? Something with extremely dirty dicks, or perhaps some scat? Or feet? Whatever tickles your pickle**

It was a rediscovery. His son. His very own flesh and blood. A creature of him. Peter couldn't believe it. He looked at the boy with new eyes, scouring his every freckle and follicle for traces of himself. The little smirk, the taper of his waist, that knowingly smarmy attitude. Each new revelation sent a thrill inside him, made him want to cry out in triumph. He wanted to know everything about Jackson there was to know, wanted to reclaim him as entirely his own.   
  
He started with a kiss. Jackson resisted at first. His eyes widened and he bit at his father's lips and he squirmed in Peter's arms. But his father knew best, plundered his boy's mouth and pulled him tight enough to feel every inch of each other. Jackson gave in quick enough, whimpering and moaning and arching into the touch he should have known so much sooner.   
  
"I want to know you boy. Want you to know me. We belong to one another." And they had each other, raw and unfiltered. Peter committed the stench of his son's cock to memory, made the boy bury his face in his father's groin until he knew nothing but the taste and feel of it. They bathed in piss and feasted on cum and smeared their sweat between each other until their scents were all but one. Peter would never lose him again, and everyone would know just how deeply Jackson belong to him and him alone.

* * *

 

 

**Peter Parker fisting Thor's dirty hole...? Maybe Thor licking his hand clean afterwards or something?**

It's something you don't realize at first, something that sneaks so slowly into your consciousness that it's hard to recognize after. Thor's presence, his godliness, at first just radiates off him as a light. You recognize his otherworldly energy in the way your mind expects. It's like there's a halo thrown about his form that permeates your mind and dulls your senses to anything but the sheer brilliance of it.   
  
Only once you acclimate, once your reality comes to accept the existence of such a thing in a physical form, does the truth surface. For he is like man, but only to an extent. Peter gawked when his eyes first cleared, when he came to know that Thor was actually sized closer to the Hulk than anyone else on the team. And he quaked. For even after, the god did not look at him differently, still burned through his body with a stare that beckoned him closer.   
  
When Peter finally followed, his cock could find no purchase in such a stature. So Thor called for him instead to use a fist. What seemed innocuous at surface level told a different story once he was elbow deep. The golden hairs that coated Thor's rim may have been clean, but when Peter withdrew with a wet, warm sucking, his arm was coated with shit. His stomach fluttered and his vision swam as his dick spit. Thor lazily grinned at him, rolled onto his back. "Excuse my rudeness. We should take this slower, even as I hunger for you so. Let me be more amorous." His eyes sparkled as he took Peter's soiled limb and pressed gentle kisses to the knuckles before licking, sucking, and then fellating the whole thing, smearing his mess and moaning. Peter came, bucking and nearly blacking out. There were many things about his new life he could never have predicted, but this was by far his favorite.

* * *

 

 

**Headcanon: Peter Parker has an oral fixation. He always needs...well, something in there. Fingers, toes, a dick, it doesn't really matter.**

I have to admit, I'm truly terrible and I love the idea of the Avengers babying the shit out of Peter Parker. Like I'm not the most into adult baby stuff, but I'll read it if it sounds fun. And I wouldn't apply it here, but I adore the idea of them lovingly infantilizing him to an exaggerated extent and sort of encouraging his worst habits. Like leaving his dirty clothes everywhere and never washing his balls and being bratty and masturbating a ridiculous amount, with literally anything and everything he can get his hands on.   
  
So like, after a big temper tantrum of his a bunch of the guys fuck him to the point of exhaustion to calm him down and soothe him and then Steve just bundles him up on the couch while they all collapse to watch some late night tv with their sticky dicks out and maybe even have just an incidental group sleepover situation. But Peter's still a little fussy, needy, wriggly, until Steve coaxes him to latch onto one of his tits and then Peter dozes off as he dry nurses from Captain America.

* * *

 

 

**So...just throwing it out there, if you ever feel like it... Scott and Peter. Daddy kink. Go ham.**

Peter can really only have him for the weekends. He forgets how many silly things silly boys find incredibly important-- worth making exorbitant time for in their schedules. Parties and friend's shows and going with someone to pick up a dog or get a checkup or move some free furniture from a curb. It's endearing, in a way, that Scott's so... simple.   
  
It makes it all the more real when Peter sets him to crawl, leashes his lanky form, and trots him all around the apartment. His floppy hair can't hide the way his eyes shine as he makes his happy, panting noises, and he whines so prettily when Peter presses his tail inside that mangy, dirty hole of his. One day Peter will buy him a hood too, those little boots that render him helpless without his daddy.   
  
Until then, it's satisfying enough to make him eat and drink from bowls, to idly pet his flanks while he watches tv, to let him lick and lick and lick at Peter's cock long after he's finished coming and can only offer piss. Scott always does well enough that Peter's happy to slip him a couple hundred to buy whatever new games and drugs he's feeling like that week. Peter's not sure which keeps him coming around more dutifully, but if the way Scott keens when he fucks his dirty dick inside his daddy's salt and pepper ass is anything to go by, he's not all that concerned.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this stuff and want to see more or have suggestions of your own, come hang out with the community on twitter @DirtcoreD It has connections to my curiouscat, ko-fi, and discord channel for folks to have fun and enjoy.


End file.
